


Plural Possessive

by Dee_Laundry



Series: My Fathers' Son [10]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-17
Updated: 2008-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House helps Wilson celebrate his first Fathers' Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plural Possessive

**Author's Note:**

> Custom written for [](http://galaxygirl76.livejournal.com/profile)[**galaxygirl76**](http://galaxygirl76.livejournal.com/) as a thank-you for donating to The Robert Sean Leonard Birthday Charity Drive benefiting Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. Thank you to [](http://nightdog-barks.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_barks**](http://nightdog-barks.livejournal.com/) and [](http://bironic.livejournal.com/profile)[**bironic**](http://bironic.livejournal.com/) for support, and to [](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/profile)[**daisylily**](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/) for beta.

Wilson was having the strangest alien abduction dream.

The aliens had beamed him up just after he’d dropped Jack off for some quality time with John House, Hippocrates, and George Washington. Wilson couldn’t figure out how many aliens there were; they were in constant motion around him as they stripped him naked and strapped him to the surprisingly comfortable exam table on his back. They were tall, though, and purple, and had faces like boxers. The dogs, not the athletes. Their instruments were attached to long robotic arms that looked a lot like the ones used in automobile factories, with pincers and welders and paint-sprayer-looking nozzles.

All of that was pretty typical, though, according to pop culture and that _Tales from Beyond Our World_ video that House had been obsessively watching and re-watching over the past month.

No, the strange thing was that they kept rubbing the vibrating anal probe along his crack but would never actually penetrate him. Back and forth, buzzing, buzzing, for ages. It was so stupid. The instrument was clearly marked Anal Probe. A probe was an instrument used for exploration _inside_ a body cavity, so why the hell weren’t they sticking it in his anus?

“Stop teasing,” he snapped at the fifty-two minute mark, and then the vibration was finally in him, _yar_ , and he woke to the rumble of House’s laughter against his thigh.

“I _knew_ you were faking sleep,” House said smugly as he wiggled the slim vibrator from side to side.

“I – unh – actually wasn’t,” Wilson replied, and tried to keep himself from tensing up. He’d been perfectly relaxed in his dream – the aliens had drugged him maybe? – but now the unfamiliar pressure of an object in his ass was getting to him. “More lube,” he ordered.

House reached up past Wilson’s torso for something on the bed, and dragged the cold bottle across Wilson’s erection on the way back down. Wilson couldn’t help flinching, and House laughed again.

“House, you –” was all he got out before damp heat surrounded the head of his dick and cool gel tingled the sensitive nerves of his anus.

The stretching of his muscles to accommodate the hard, unyielding vibrator was an intriguing sensation. Not pleasurable exactly, but not painful, and definitely novel.

The suction on his cock, on the other hand, was thrillingly familiar. House was using Wilson’s favorite rhythm: slow and tight, with intermittent licks around the rim of the head. Nothing fancy, tried and true, and it was _good_.

Vibrator in and out, House’s mouth up and down: good. _Good good good_. Wilson’s left hand had found its customary position lying lightly over House’s right ear, House’s hair tickling his fingertips. His right hand was splayed across his chest, his heartbeat thrumming right into his palm.

It was good, very good, _so_ good, and then it was quickly scaling toward incredible. He drew his knees up, planted the soles of his feet firmly on the mattress, and the vibration in his ass had suddenly doubled, and House, House, House...

He knew he was making the sounds House derisively called the steam engine puffs but he didn’t care, couldn’t care. House was on him and every nerve was screaming, screaming, screaming. Ecstasy consumed him and destroyed him, leaving him scattered in pieces across the sheets.

God, Wilson loved morning orgasms.

“Off,” was the first thing he said when he could breathe. Then he had to yank House back onto him and shove against House’s right arm, because House had obviously misinterpreted. He wanted the _sex toy_ off, because the vibrations were starting to aggravate rather than please. Fortunately he’d picked a genius to share his bed. The vibrator stilled and then pulled out, sending a ripple through him as it slipped past his inner sphincter.

House’s left arm snuck under Wilson’s back and tightened around his waist, as House nuzzled into his pubic hair in the customary attempt to annoy him into wiggling. Nothing doing; Wilson was too pleasantly exhausted to move at all.

House looked up at him and grinned. “Happy Father’s Day. Good present, huh?” Hanging from the cord clenched between House’s fingers, the vibrator dangled in the air. It was shorter than Wilson had thought, slim, and, coincidentally, the same shade of purple the dream aliens had been. Weird.

Wilson’s face must’ve expressed that thought, because House continued sarcastically, “Thank you, House. How nice of you to remember, House. Let me take care of that hard-on for you, House.” With a low grumble, he tried to tug his arm free.

“House.” Wilson pressed the small of his back toward the bed, trapping House’s arm, and waited for House to look up at him. It took a moment of struggle, half-playful and half-serious, but eventually House deigned to favor him with a glance.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Wilson asked, in the huskiest voice he could manage.

Everything stopped for a long few seconds as House’s expression morphed from annoyed to confused to suspicious. “We don’t do it like that,” he finally said.

“We could now,” Wilson replied, “if you wanted.” He looked into House’s eyes, reading the faint anxiety behind the lust behind the mistrust of anything freely offered. “I’m relaxed; I’m open; why not?”

House looked down toward his thigh, and oh _ho_ , that was not going to derail this, no way. Wilson found the energy to lunge toward House and grab him under the arms, pulling, twisting and turning until House’s head was on top of the pillow and House’s hips were under Wilson’s ass.

“You’re –” House began, but Wilson kissed away the rest of the words. He rolled his body against House’s, from groin to chest and back again, until House was rolling against him as well, and then he carefully guided House’s cock into him.

It was slightly more pliant than the vibrator but a lot bigger, so Wilson had to take things slower than he expected. House’s moans seemed to indicate that House was fine with that, so he inched his way down the shaft, rocking gently and focusing his breathing for relaxation. It was unexpectedly good, even just that, the push and heat of House filling him.

House was behaving himself nicely, keeping his hips still so that Wilson could control the pace. Wilson wasn’t sure he could be quite as much of a gentleman if their positions were reversed now. The thought that House not only could, but _would_ , was hot. Really hot. ‘I think I need this cock all the way in my ass’ hot.

Wilson breathed out, forcibly relaxed, and sank abruptly, his butt slapping onto House’s pelvis.

“Jesus,” House groaned, hands digging into the top of Wilson’s thighs.

Sitting proudly on House’s cock, full and warm, Wilson laughed breathlessly. “He was a Jew, too.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the – oh...” House let out a short grunt of a moan as Wilson began to move up his cock again. “...messiah.”

Slowly and as smoothly as possible, Wilson pulled himself to the head of House’s cock and then began pushing himself back down. “Sure about that?”

House groaned again, loud and long, and his legs began to shake. “God, you’ve gotta,” he moaned and grabbed at Wilson’s hips. “You gotta, you gotta...”

Wilson got the picture and sped up. The fingers digging into his ass and House’s plummet into complete inarticulacy let him know he’d made the right decision.

Smugly satisfied at House’s obvious gratification, he was thinking how pleasant the warm, smooth friction inside him was when House shifted his hips. On the next slide down, House’s dick slammed into his prostate.

“Holy shit,” he gasped and fell forward, catching himself with his hands on House’s shoulders. House grinned up at him and began to thrust.

“Oh god,” Wilson moaned. “I’m going to come again.” He looked down just for visual confirmation that he was still flaccid. “How can...” His prostate was jolted again, and he forgot what he was saying.

“You won’t come,” House said around grunts. “Just, uh, how it feels.”

He’d been fingered before, a few times, but it had never felt quite like this. House had been holding out on him, the bastard. Greedy, lazy, oh god, too fucking much, this had to stop. He clenched around House’s cock mid-stroke, and that did it. House tensed, let out a choking, gasping grunt, and came, thrusting a few more times before collapsing into the mattress.

“God,” Wilson groaned as he gingerly lifted himself, wincing as House’s still stiff penis pulled out. Once he was free, he let himself gently down to sprawl over House’s chest and legs.

He was exhausted; his muscles were twitching as if he’d sprinted a mile; and the sensation of wetness in his rear was too weird to even think about. When they did this again, he was going to make House wear a condom.

Wilson was just starting to get some brain cells back – what to make for breakfast, good easy topic – when House murmured something that stopped him in his tracks. “Damn,” Wilson breathed.

“What?” House asked, poking him to look up. House’s brow was drawn in in confusion, and he seemed hurt as well, which was odd.

“Nothing,” Wilson replied. “I just have a busy week coming up, and I don’t know how I’m going to fit in a visit to the audiologist.”

House’s arm tightened around his shoulders. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I need to get to the audiologist, because my hearing’s going. You were complaining about me not listening last week, and then just now instead of, ‘Your ass is hairy,’ or whatever it was, I thought you said, ‘Let’s get married.’” Wilson shook his head, looking over at the wall and mentally going through his calendar. “Maybe Thursday afternoon,” he mused, “if I move –”

“That is what I said.”

Wilson couldn’t think for a moment. He’d heard right, so... a joke? House didn’t look like he was kidding, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred Wilson could tell. “You said we should get married.”

House nodded. “Yeah. I’m tired of secretly living in sin.”

“So you want to come out... No.” House’s _such an idiot_ face easily demonstrated that was wrong. “You don’t want to secretly live in sin; you want to secretly live in the sacred covenant of marriage.”

“Something like that,” House agreed.

Wilson still couldn’t think, or, more accurately, couldn’t organize his thoughts in any order that made sense. “So many questions, but let’s start with: Why?”

“You were the one who proposed to your wives, right? Because you’re really crappy at responding to the proposal when someone else makes it.”

“I just want to –”

“Telling you how I feel sucks,” House interrupted. “It seems so pathetic and useless, even though I know you want to hear it.”

Wilson had twisted and shifted to face House. His heart was pounding, apparently having caught up to the seriousness of the situation before his brain could. House’s expression was open, raw, and Wilson couldn’t look away.

“So,” House continued, “I want to stand up and make it official, so you’ll have the proof. I won’t have to say anything, and you won’t have to doubt me.”

Wilson’s lips lifted, and he let a soft “ha” of amusement escape. “I don’t doubt you now.”

“But you don’t –”

He kissed House then, a press of lips, a tease of tongue, another warm press before pulling back. “House, I have a ten-month-old in the other room who’s going to start calling for us any minute. _Your_ ten-month-old. He’s the proof. You told me that at Christmas time, and it’s not any less true now.”

House pulled him down again into a longer kiss that was no less warm. When it broke, House breathed, “Damn,” across Wilson’s lips.

“What?” Wilson replied from an inch away.

“I was really just angling for the honeymoon.” Gentle brush of lips. “Amsterdam for a week in July, late birthday present for me.”

Wilson was grinning, tucked in House’s arms. “Is your memory going, old man? I already got you a very nice birthday present.”

“Late Father’s Day, then.”

“You get me a vibrator, and I get you a week-long overseas vacation.”

House kissed him again as the familiar whine of “Pop; up, Pop” came out of the baby monitor. Wilson pulled away reluctantly, grabbed his shorts from the floor, and went to go fetch his proof.

“It seems fair to me,” House called after him, and Wilson realized with a smile that it seemed fair to him too.


End file.
